Stories in Ink
by jlocked2212
Summary: This is a series of stories that all relate in some way or another to my other story: The Ink and the Reaction but they can also just be enjoyed as is. They all have themes of Johnlock. Labeled complete for now until I get more ideas.
1. Greg

**John and Greg**

**A/N: This is a series of short stories all connected and related in some way to my story _The Ink and the Reaction- A Story of John Watson's Tattoos_. As I get more ideas I'll add more chapters. If you read these it will spoil some things for you in the original story but they can be read on their own. **

**I edited the ending of this a little because I didn't love it when I first wrote it and daily-chan (who is the inspiration for all these if you're wondering who to thank) mentioned the end was too fast! And I wanted to change some things as far as continuity and give more explanation for John and Greg's relationship. So it's a bit different…**

**Don't own Sherlock, obviously. **

"John, I'm going to need all your clothing that has blood on it for evidence. So off with your shirt then." Lestrade demanded not knowing the kind of request he was making. John froze in the middle of the room as Anderson moved toward him with an evidence bag. His eyes were as wide as a deer's caught in headlights. Everything to slow down.

About fifteen minutes ago, the Yard had apprehended two people who had been involved in a knife fight, but the third had escaped them. He had been badly injured during the fight that John had interrupted. John had been struggling with the third suspect and got quite a bit of the other man's blood on his clothing. Lestrade was hoped the blood on John's shirt might lead them to the man because he suspected the man had been arrested before. They had brought John to the Yard to process the evidence and his statement about the fight. Since Sherlock's named had been cleared, almost a full year ago now, John had been restored as part of the force and helped out with crime solving fairly often.

"I'll need another shirt." John managed still not making any effort to remove his clothing. His eyes darted all over the room.

"I'll get you one while you give your statement." Greg promised looking at him a little strangely. It wasn't that cold in here. It was the middle of summer so it was fairly warm in the building and he didn't want him to strip naked, just hand over the shirt that had blood on it.

"Greg, can I talk to you in your office please?" John suddenly asked sounding a bit strained. Lestrade nodded confused, but followed the smaller man down the hall and into his office. Anderson and Donovan whispered about John's odd behavior once the door closed.

'John what is this all about? I just need your shirt to test the blood…" John held up his hand and nodded his head to indicate he understood why Lestrade needed the clothing.

"I understand Greg and I'm not trying to make things difficult. I just need to keep some things private and I'd never be able to if I stripped down in front of half the Yard."

"Like what John? No one here is going to judge you for your scar. You're a hero and one of my best mates. If anyone says a word against you, I'd fire them on the spot." Lestrade declared thinking that John's war wound was the reason for his reluctance. John stared at him with cold eyes.

"Like you fired Anderson or Donovan when they spoke out against Sherlock?"

"I've adjusted attitude because of a hard lesson." Lestrade hung his head. Sherlock's treatment by the Yard was still a point of tension between the two friends. Silence held for a few moments in the office and the only sounds came from the street outside.

"The blood is soaked through my jumper and my undershirt. I'll give you both, but I'll need at least a heavy t-shirt to leave here in. You better hope he hasn't bled out." John told him as he looked at his clothing again then added. "Greg, I'd trust you with my life after what we've been through these last couple of years, but I'm not exactly excited about sharing my private business with you. I don't share this part of my life often. Just don't let me down." John shifted uncomfortably then started to peal the blood soaked clothing off his torso. These declarations startled Greg. He really had no idea what John was talking about.

"John I'm not exactly sure what business you mean…" Lestrade trailed off when he saw the ink lines trailing all over John's arms when he pulled off his jumper. He handed the piece of clothing over to Lestrade. He took a deep breath and pulled off his undershirt as well and handed it over.

John's body was covered in ink. His arms and torso were full of intricate designs.

"Tattoos really aren't that big of a deal John." Lestrade shrugged trying not to stare and diffuse the situation some. Even though he handled hundreds of people who had ink on their skin he never expected John to have tattoos let alone so many. He was very surprised that someone he had such a close friendship with had never mentioned something like this, but really it was a concern of his. John had every right to his privacy, and Greg doubted anything about the tattoos was overly embarrassing or private.

"They are important to me, and I'd prefer that you wouldn't spread this around. I like to keep my art private." John growled again when he pulled his hand away from Lestrade who now had the jumper and undershirt in the evidence bag.

John pulled back. His right arm had been stretched across his body to hand the pieces of clothing to Greg. Then Lestrade saw a tattoo that would explain John's reluctance to undress in front of the others especially Anderson and Donovan. His tone of indifference seemed to vanish.

"Er…John I may have been insensitive before of your feelings. Now I understand better why this might cause a stir. I'll get you another shirt and maybe a jacket if I can find one." He added as he put the shirts in the evidence bag and left the room. He handed the bag over to a lab tech as he went to the lost and found to try and find something for John to wear. When he closed the door behind him, he paused for just a moment.

There had been a tattoo of a violin right over John's heart. The scroll had almost reached the hallow of his throat and the neck stretched down between his pecks. The strings of the instrument spelled out Sherlock. Lestrade knew it would be like hell for John if Anderson found out. He quickly grabbed a few clean shirts and a jacket from the lost and found and hurried back to his office. John sat in the chair in front of Greg's desk with his back to the door.

"We weren't…lovers or together or anything. I know people thought we were and when others see they will still think that but that's not why I got it. When things were so bad…when everyone was against him, I had to be sure to stand by him and believe in him. I had to make sure I couldn't forget…I couldn't forget him… so I got this." John touched his chest when he explained. His words seemed heavy as he spoke them. Greg put a hand on his shoulder and handed over the shirts. John put one on and while it was slightly too big it was dark so it hid the ink once again.

The tattoo had certainly raised questions in Lestrade's mind when he had seen it. The design was very personalized and right over John's heart. It meant something, but it didn't have to mean they had been a couple.

"You were a better man than any of us during everything. I never should have doubted him. I wish I could explain how sorry I am." Greg knew it had taken over a year for John to clear Sherlock's name but in the end he and Mycroft had done it. The Consulting Criminal's name was ruined and Sherlock's was restored, but neither was alive to face the headlines that had been printed across the London newspapers.

"Yes well, I suppose I should be going now. I have to get back to the flat. I still have some hours at the clinic tomorrow. Let me know what happens with the third man. I hope I helped. Goodnight, Greg. "John left the room in the borrowed shirt and jacket as Greg smiled after him. A few moments after he left the office Anderson and Donovan marched in.

"What was that all about?" Donovan demanded in her high-pitched voice.

"Yea, what was up with him?" Anderson wheezed. Greg, who was always protective of John, suddenly felt very angry at the two intrusive busy bodies.

"Nothing either of you need to be concerned about. John just wanted a little privacy. Now go work on those blood samples." Lestrade ordered defending his friend. He was firm and had a no more questions tone. The two spun on their heels and exited the room. He knew someday he might actually need to do something about the two of them. He didn't have a reason to fire them, but he still wished he could. Greg regretted being swayed by them three years ago. He looked at the calendar and realized it really was nearly three years ago to the day. He wondered if John really was doing alright. He seemed better than in the beginning, but living by himself in 221B had to be hard.

Bing! Suddenly an email popped up.

_To: DI Lestrade _

_From: M. Holmes_

_RE: URGENT _

_Message: I have reason to believe my brother is alive and may return to Baker Street in the next few hours. I believe you have become rather close with John over the past 3 years. I hope it is not asking too much for you to check in and make sure John does not die of shock or kill my brother. I would not blame him for either,r but I would prefer them alive. Especially after all the work it has taken to get him back home. _

_Thank You. _

Lestrade's mouth hung open. Sherlock alive? How? After all this time? More questions flooded his brain than when he had seen John's tattoos. He stood gaping at his computer. Suddenly Anderson came barging into the room without even knocking.

"Sir, the blood on the shirt…"

"Get out! Anderson don't you know to knock? I'm your superior and I need more respect from you in the future." Greg's concentration had been broken by the interruption. Anderson froze in his track and offered a quick 'yes sir' on his way out. Greg continued to stare at his computer.

Bing! Another email popped up in his inbox.

_From: MH_

_Message: He may actually arrive sooner than expected. He seems to be in a bit of a rush. I would hurry over if I was you. _

Bing

_From: MH_

_Message: Knowing John you may want to bring a strong drink to help him deal with the news. _

Greg had a bottle of scotch in his car. He could pop over and say he was planning on giving John for his birthday this year anyway. It was coming up in a few weeks. He and John had made plans to go out as they had for a couple of years now, but maybe Greg could lie for now. If Sherlock was alive, John might not need to go out with him this year. He remembered how tough it had been the first year. Sherlock's fall had been so close to John's birthday. John hadn't left the flat for days after the funeral, but Greg went over. He and John had gotten into a fight and John belted him across the chin.

Greg returned to bang on a closed door once a week for six months until John finally let him into the flat. In the tense room tea was the first thing John had offered. It started their weekly meetings. At first Greg went mostly to keep an eye on John because he thought it was his responsibility. Sherlock's death had fallen partially on his shoulders, especially in John's eyes, and he wanted fix it the best he could. In the beginning it was awkward, hard and stiff but they had been friends before. Eventually they found things to talk about. It had taken him another six months of nights at the pub and dinners with his family for John to really forgive Greg.

Once Sherlock's name had been cleared, he invited John back on the force. Now the two men were very good friends personally and professionally.

Greg looked at his watch and phoned his wife on the way out of the office. He couldn't come home. Something was going on with John. She hoped it would be ok. Then he texted John…

_Sorry about today at the office. Coming over with take away and scotch. –GL_

_I'm alright. Go home. – JW_

_I just want to make sure you aren't in shock. –GL_

Lestrade laughed at his own private joke.

_Greg you aren't making any sense. What's going on? –JW_

Lestrade chucked and jumped into his car. He turned toward 221B. He owed it to John and Sherlock to keep them both safe even if it was from each other. If he had learned anything in the past few years, it was that John had a good right hook. He also learned if John had a couple glasses of scotch, his aim wasn't quite as good.

**A/N: Input still appreciated and welcomed for ideas! Hope everyone likes the changes. **


	2. Sarah

**A/N: Thanks for the encouragement everyone! If you've read ****_The Ink and the Reaction _****then this is what happened right before John came home from his date with Sarah. It could be considered a prequel to that story.**

John and Sarah

The kisses were sweet and languid. Her soft hands roamed across his chest, and he felt her unbutton his shirt. She slipped it if off of his arms and threw it off the bed. He had left his jumper in the hall along with Sarah's shirt and her skirt. He smirked into the kiss while he remembered his own anxious fumbling fingers from earlier. John's eyes opened as she roamed her hands all over his chest. He felt this nagging in the back of his mind that he should be more worried about this. Even so, he couldn't quite put his finger on what was worrying him while Sarah's mouth was on his. The fuzzy feeling from the wine from dinner wasn't helping his memory either.

Normally when he went home with someone he was extremely self-conscious about his body. Between tattoos and scars, his body was his life's story laid out in the open. He thought of his body art as a very private thing. He rarely showed the designs to anyone, and some of his scars held just as much meaning to him. Not even his closest friend, Sherlock Holmes, knew that John had tattoos all across his body.

Sarah had found out about John's tattoos the last time they had dated. He wasn't worried about her having an adverse reaction to them. She had been fine with them last time. For once, it seemed as though he had nothing to worry about. Of course, he was forgetting a certain tattoo that occupied the space right over his heart.

The kisses were getting more heated when she broke the kiss and her eyes flittered down to his chest. He saw her smile fade and her eyebrows knit together in confusion and anger flashed in her eyes when she looked up at him. It was only then that he remembered what her sweet kisses and wine had made him forget. The violin! Damn it the violin! The whole atmosphere of the room changed in an instant. All the romance and heat vanished and was replaced by an awkward distance. He knew this was more than a bit not good.

The violin was a tribute to Sherlock when John thought he was dead and doubted in the detective. Instead of fighting with himself constantly, both while he was awake and in his dreams, John tattooed a violin with Sherlock's name spelled out with strings on his chest. The tattoo wasn't supposed to represent their relationship in any special way other than it was important for John to remember what Sherlock meant to him as a friend. John had to convince himself that Sherlock had been lying during that last phone call. As long as he had faith in the detective and knew Moriarty was real, John could hold his life together after Sherlock's jumped. It had even given him strength when Sherlock came back from the dead after destroying Moriarty's web.

"John I think you should go." Sarah said quietly. She pulled away from him and grabbed a big t-shirt from the end of the bed. She slipped it over her head.

"Sarah…" John slid off the bed and grabbed her hand. Her expression hardened when she looked at him.

"How are you going to explain then, John?"

"I have to explain?" John growled defensively and pulled back his hands as he clenched his fists at his sides and looked at the floor. "I've told you before that my tattoos are my business."

"When you're sharing my bed, I think it's partially my business. Especially if you are devoted to someone else, while you are sleeping with me." Sarah said as she waved her hands at John's chest.

"Jesus, Sarah." John snapped not knowing what to say. Sarah falling into hysterics and getting angry hadn't been the plan for the night. "It doesn't matter."

"Oh so you didn't put a tattoo of your formally dead flatmate's name on your chest? Over your heart, the most intimate place? You think it I can't see what this is?" she scoffed at him and John shook his head. She stood with her hands on her hips.

"But Sarah it doesn't mean what you think!" John exclaimed while he took a step toward her.

"It doesn't? Did you know that since he came back you don't object to people assuming you are together? Why not when you used to? What does it mean if it doesn't mean what I think? It doesn't mean you're using me to pretend you aren't with him or attracted to him? Because that is what it feels like John. Did you get it before or after he jumped?" she suddenly stopped her rant to ask. He hesitated before telling her.

"After while I thought he was…you know"

"Jesus John, can you be even more morbid?" John's head snapped up. He was angry and annoyed at her now.

"Sarah, you've seen my other tattoos before. You know they have deeper meaning than that. This wasn't some kind of romantic gesture for Sherlock. He doesn't even know I have tattoos. He couldn't..."he trailed off as he buttoned his shirt and Sarah glared at him.

"Somehow knowing that tattoo has a meaning is supposed to make me feel better? Were you a couple John? I never actually thought you were but this puts things in a different light." Sarah asked still fuming.

"No we weren't a couple."

"Then why is **his** name resting over your heart!? Go ahead, explain it!" she shouted at him. He sat down on the bed with his head between his hands. Sarah leaned against the doorframe.

"Sarah when Sherlock faked his death, he made me watch him jump. I didn't handle it well. It was like the nightmares about the war were starting all over, but Sherlock was the only person in them and he died every time. I needed to have faith in him even when no one else did. " John continued to try and explain, but he could tell she was barely listening. Sarah was still scowling from the doorway of the bed room. She wasn't even trying to understand what this tattoo meant to him. She was just angry.

"It was hard enough when you kept running away to chase him all over London, and he interrupted our dates. John I cannot look at his name every time you come to bed with me. I will not do that and you should not ask me to!" her voice rose almost to a screech. John looked at her for a few moments. The words stung like a slap and he knew she would never understand. The tats were his and his alone. They were his life's story written across his body. If she could not try to understand any part of his life, she could not be part of it. Maybe no one could understand and he was meant to be alone with his story inked on his body.

"You are right, I suppose... I guess it was asking too much." Sarcasm laced the words that he forced out.

John nodded defeated. He walked out of Sarah's bedroom. This was why he never showed off his tattoos. Every time he faced rejection. They were so important to him, but they often destroyed his relationships. The tattoos were like a big warning sign that everyone ignored until they couldn't anymore. They were just something on his skin until people realized they represented the very core of who he was.

The violin was perhaps the most important tattoo he had ever etched onto his skin. His loyalty, devotion and faith in Sherlock were tattooed on his chest. Sarah thought it was a romantic gesture, but it meant so much more than that to John. Sherlock had pulled his world back together after the war, and that rock of support had been ripped away. John had to still believe in the man in order to keep his world from falling down around him.

John gathered his jumper off the floor and zipped up his jacket. He closed the door and was half way down the hall when he heard the door open again.

"John wait," Sarah's voice called after him. He turned hoping that she was going to try and understand what he had been trying to tell her. Instead she handed him small box that would fit under his arm. He mouth was in a tight line. "These are your things."

"I don't think I have anything of yours to return since you didn't spend much time at our flat. So I guess this is goodbye," John pushed the words out barely keeping a lid on his anger and frustration.

"Yes… Goodbye then." Sarah smiled thinly, turned around, and closed the door to her flat one last time. He sighed. It was going to be a long walk home.

John left Sarah's flat and turned toward 221B. He needed the time that it would take him to walk home to decide what to say to Sherlock. He had planned on being at Sarah's all night, and a few of Sherlock's comments from before John left indicated that he knew John's intentions for the evening. Now he had to come up with an excuse for coming home, one that didn't involve telling Sherlock about his tattoos. Sherlock did not understand sentiment and John knew sentiment was what his tattoos were made out of.

The long walk in the cold made him even more brisk and angry when he arrived home. Instead of coming up with an excuse, he had gone over the events with Sarah several times. Each time he was much more upset with her and the way she assumed things about his life. Even so, the things she said bothered him. He knew he cared for Sherlock, but what kind of caring was it and did it matter? Would any woman be ok with the violin being tattooed on his heart? He doubted it. He was worked up till he made it back to the flat.

When he unlocked the door to the building, he was still frustrated and he would have to try and lie to Sherlock. Lying to Sherlock rarely worked out for John. Even so, he would have to try because he knew it would be even more difficult to explain why Sherlock's name was tattooed across his chest. Just when he had decided on a plan, John tripped up the stairs of 221B and slammed his bad shoulder in to the steps. He growled a few curses and gathered himself together a little before he stomped up the rest of the steps and slammed the door. Before the fall, he had decided to say as little to Sherlock as possible, make a cup of tea and turn in for the night. Unfortunately now he had Sherlock's full attention. How well can you lie John Watson?

**A/N: Input is appreciated! I'm still working on a situation for Anderson/Donovan and Mycroft. Other suggestions are welcome these are fun to write! **


	3. James Moriarty

**A/N: Ok, Moriarty would have to see John's tattoos before he had the violin because in the original story John explains that he got the tattoo after the fall…so assuming Moriarty did die John and Moriarty would have to have this conversation before then. Therefore, this takes place during the Great Game when John is kidnapped and taken to the pool. **

**PS: Does anyone think they are too repetitive as a set? Should I set them up as individual one-shots? **

John and Moriarty

"Strip." James ordered as he stepped out of the van. He smirked at John.

"What?" John asked. He hesitated even though there was another man pointing a gun at his chest.

"Oh alright, Mr. Modest just take off your shirt." Moriarty mocked John in his high pitched sing-song voice. John unbuttoned his shirt and slowly slipped it off. He shivered against the cold London air. They were standing outside a large brown building. John really didn't have any idea where they were. The last thing he remembered was being knocked across the back of the head then waking up with James Moriarty's large brown eyes staring down at him. The man that had visited the lab with Molly looked different in a suit and tie. His scowl had turned into a smirk when their eyes met.

"Hello, I'm James Moriarty. I've been playing games with Sherlock and now you are part of it too," was all he said to John until they reached their current position. Moriarty's voice snapped John out of his thoughts.

"Oh ho! Well look at this! Johnny boy you did surprise me, and that is an accomplishment!" Moriarty stroked the ink that covered John's chest and arms. He touched John's scar too. John bristled against the contact. It was foreign and unwelcome. James tutted. "Now now don't be like that."

Moriarty clipped a battery pack to John's belt and clipped the ear piece into John's ear. Then he slowly walked around John. He touched a few of the tattoos but mostly observed. John felt intensely uncomfortable under Moriarty's scrutiny. Suddenly he moved in close to John's face. He poked the blank area over the middle of John's chest.

"Why is this blank when everywhere else in this area is covered? Saving it for someone special?" He asked twisting his face into a smile.

"Nothing to put there yet," was all John offered to the crazed criminal. In all seriousness John had no idea what the other man was implying or what he found so amusing. Moriarty pulled his hands back and continued to think with a twisted smile on his face.

"Healer and a soldier, you are an interesting man. I mean as interesting as you can be as a regular person. You aren't very extraordinary, but interesting. No wonder he keeps you around. Maybe it has something to do with that, but it doesn't matter. It's cute really…"Moriarty trailed off as he handed John his shirt back.

"What is?" John couldn't help but ask. He trembled as Moriarty reached into a duffle bag on the floor. John assumed bombs would be strapped him now. The henchman still pointed a gun at his chest.

"He is so attached to you! So quickly too! I've watched him for a long time John Watson and let me tell you, you have changed the man!" Moriarty struggled to contain his excitement. "It will be an excellent end to the game."

"What do you mean?" John asked. He felt he was talking to Sherlock, and it was assumed he already knew half of the conversation.

"Sherlock, he is just infatuated with you. He's so attached to you, his little blogger. I call you his pet, but he seems to like blogger. Wait until you see what I have planned."

"He's in love with me?" John scoffed at the idea. It was absurd. Brilliant Sherlock in love with him… "But I'm not..."

"Yes yes I know! Not gay! Oh don't be dull! Not now after you were being so interesting." Moriarty nearly shouted then became rather calm. John just took one step back. The man was half crazed.

"Right." John nodded. This was almost like dealing with Sherlock except Moriarty was manic in his actions where Sherlock was measured. Moriarty used gloves to hook up the bombs to John's chest. He pulled away after a few minutes and looked at John again. His face was serious now, but his eyes still held the crazed glint in them. Moriarty looked him over one last time before he spoke again.

"Keep saving that space Dr. Watson and hope I don't get bored soon" Moriarty turned away from him with his hands in his pockets.

"Excuse me, why?" John called after him.

"Because if I have anything to say about it, you might be dead and Sherlock will be. He'll be ruined and dead. It will be such fun though," Moriarty smiled again wickedly. "Oh, and if you would be so kind…don't tell Sherlock anything I said. We geniuses like to play games on our own and it will just be worse for you later. Come along now. We have to get you into position. Oh I cannot wait to see his face!"

Moriarty walked away. John had no choice but to follow as the gunman nudged him in the back with the tip of the gun. Even so, as he walked he thought about Moriarty's words about Sherlock.

Then he was nudged into the pool room. Sherlock's face turned from confidence to disbelief when he saw John in the fluffy jacket that covered the explosives. John heard Moriarty's voice in his ear. As he repeated the words and then revealed the truth, John saw relief cross Sherlock's face for a moment. Then fear and panic returned. Moriarty's words echoed in his head again. _He's so attached to you... You've changed the man. _John didn't believe him, but Moriarty even suggested something similar to Sherlock.

"_We both know that's not quite true_."

John closed his eyes. When he opened them, John was laying in his bed. The rest of that evening flashed before his eyes, but it was only a memory now. In the end Moriarty had won the game. he had never told Sherlock about the conversation he had with Moriarty because it seemed unimportant after the pool. It was only later that he realized the significance and by then it was to late. Now Sherlock was dead. He had jumped, and now John was alone. Even more alone than before the detective had come into his life. The dreams made John doubt in Sherlock. Some nights he heard the phone call with Sherlock over and over as Sherlock called himself a fake. Something in his voice always made John sure that Sherlock had been lying about faking his abilities. Even so, the words were what had rocked John's faith in the other man.

" I'm sorry. I thought it would take longer for him to get bored Sherlock I really did." He put a hand over the spot on his chest that Moriarty had touched so long ago. Just touching the spot brought him back into reality where Sherlock had been proved to be innocent and his reputation had been restored. Now there was a violin there. A violin that placed Sherlock's name across John's heart. Sherlock was still gone but he had faith in the detective again. This was reality where John Watson would always believe in Sherlock Holmes. "Maybe I was saving it. Maybe he was right."

**A/N: Story lines I'm working on for this: Anderson/Donovan (finally a plausible idea!), Mycroft, Harry, a couple of scenes about John, possible reunion moment, Mrs. Hudson. Possibly Irene - I haven't thought about her a lot yet. **


	4. The Yard

**A/N: Everyone wants to see this one so the timeline is going to skip around a bit. Hopefully everyone likes this since this is most requested. I tend to make Anderson/Donovan big jerks when I write soooooo hopefully no one really minds. And…**

**Chapter 1 – the one about Lestrade, has been edited. The ending and a few other things are different. Mostly I wanted there to be more consistency for the time line because I finally wrote it out and things weren't working. Please check it out if you haven't seen the new version yet. **

**Donovan/Anderson **

The Yard was called to a residence on an evening in early in July because a body had been found in the living room when the owners came home. The police could not find any leads so Lestrade brought in Sherlock to help them along. Sherlock had been fully restored to the force and everyone involved in the policing for London had apologized to him. Well almost everyone…Donovan and Anderson were still very much against Sherlock's involvement in cases. Even so, ever since it had been proved Sherlock was framed not very many people listened to them.

At this point the parameter was secure and the body had been removed so both Donovan and Anderson were unoccupied. Donovan met Anderson's eyes as he came down the stairs. His wife had been home every evening for two weeks and there hadn't been a murder that needed their attention for almost a month. Both of them had the same idea about how the evening would end. They slipped down the back hallway of the house and to the unoccupied alleyway behind the house. As Anderson planted the first kiss on her lips, she opened the back door.

"John just let me…" the deep baritone voice caught Sally's attention.

"No, Sherlock, we are in public and you know how I feel about exposing my…" John's voice came out of the shadows as well. Sally pulled away from Anderson to hear what the two men were saying. Her mouth almost hit the ground. Anderson grunted in protest. She put a finger to his lips.

"I don't care. I've told you that before. I want to see it all the time." Sherlock's distinct voice was low and husky.

"I'm pretty sure there are laws that prohibit…" Before John finished his objection, he seemed to realize there were other people coming out into the alley. Donovan and Anderson stood gapping at the two men standing close together in the alley.

"I thought you two were upstairs." Anderson sneered. This was the first case the four of them had worked on together since Sherlock was allowed back.

"It takes me significantly less time to do my job, Anderson, as long as you don't muck it up because you are an idiot so I do it much more efficiently. Therefore, I have much more time to spend on other activities." Sherlock's deep voice came from the darkness. The implication made Sally shiver involuntarily and reminded her what she had been planning with Anderson

"What are you two doing out here anyway?" Sally asked the question even though she was sure she knew the answer.

"Same as you I suspect," Sherlock stepped from the shadows. He was glaring at them. John stepped out of the shadows as well.

"Sherlock!" John squeaked in indignation. Sherlock glanced sideways at him and smirked. John ducked his bed and Sally was sure she could see John blush.

"Ohhhh... so he really is your colleague now?" Sally sassed Sherlock. John ducked his head a little more and Sherlock scowled.

"I don't really see how anything about me is your business, Sally Donovan. Were you glad when you saw the headlines that I had died? I'm sure you felt like it was some kind of justice in your twisted heart." Sherlock spat the words at her. She glared at him.

Both men looked rumpled, but John more so than Sherlock. His jacket and shirt were open and his hair was sticking up at odd angles. Sherlock leaned over and said something low to John then moved to walk back into the house. John followed a bit behind. As John stepped into the doorway, Anderson grabbed John's shirt.

"Wait. Oi what's this?" Anderson shouted. Donovan whipped her head around. Anderson pulled John's jacket and unbuttoned shirt back. Anderson snickered as John pushed him away.

"What is it?" Sally asked curious.

"None of your bloody business," John pushed at Anderson again, but Anderson pushed back harder.

"He has the freak's name tattooed on his chest. Look!" Anderson pushed John against the door again. John's head slammed against the door frame for a second time. As John saw stars and tried to get his wits back, Anderson pushed the fabric back again for Donovan to see. She was surprised. John had a violin tattooed in the middle of his chest. Sherlock's name was spelled out over it. She glared at John.

"In love with a freak are you?" she sneered at him.

"I told you. It is none of your business."

The two continued to heckle him as he simply tried to move around them. His head was pounding and his bad shoulder hurt as well. John heard movement from inside the house. Sherlock came rushing out of the house. He slammed Anderson against the doorframe hard. John was sure from the crack Anderson's head made he would have a headache tomorrow or a concussion.

"Anderson. Don't. Touch. Him." Sherlock growled. He slammed him against the door again and he groaned. Sherlock let Anderson drop and he slid to the floor as John stepped over him back into the house.

Sherlock grabbed John and supported him as they walked back through the house.

"Greg," Sherlock shouted up the steps.

"What is it Sherlock?" Lestrade popped his head over the banister at the top of the stairs.

"Anderson and Donovan," he seethed. The two were sheepishly making their way slowly to the front of the house. Lestrade nodded and came downstairs. Sherlock could see the anger in his face. Lestrade had been having problems with the two of them for years. He was just about fed up with them.

"What happened?" Greg asked shortly when he reached John and Sherlock.

"I'm not sure. We were out in the alley but I came in ahead of John. When I realized he wasn't behind me I went back out and Anderson had him pinned against the wall. I think he might have a concussion. I, um...I might have slammed Anderson against the wall as well." Sherlock admitted looking slightly embarrassed.

"He attacked Anderson!" Sally screeched. Sherlock's glare was like ice. Anderson was holding his head. When he pulled his hand away, John saw some blood. He wondered if his pounding head was bleeding too.

"Put Anderson out in the car Sally," Greg's tone was a warning. He put both hands on John's shoulders. "John are you alright?"

"My head…"John groaned. Sherlock touched the back of John's head. He could feel a bump forming. He bristled.

"Greg I cannot, I will not, work for the Yard with Anderson or Donovan on the same cases. I won't let them abuse John like this," Sherlock hissed. Sherlock didn't want to stop working for the Yard, he was sure it would drive him and John insane, but he didn't want John treated badly either.

"What provoked this?" Greg asked John.

"I had my shirt open. They saw the tattoo and wouldn't let me leave once they did," John told Greg flatly. The inspector's eyes hardened. Sherlock anger was permeating from him. He looked like he was going to rip someone apart. He walked outside again away from Greg and John. The mood lightened instantly.

"Just talking out in the alley?" Greg snickered. John smirked a little too.

"Greg this is serious. I don't want Sherlock to turn on you too and he might at this rate,"

"He has to expect people to respond when they find out you are a couple and sneaking off to the back alley. Just that he is back is causing a stir."

"I don't think I should expect to be attacked by your medical examiner." John said curtly.

"That's not what I meant and you know it. There are going to be people who are happy for you and others will have a harder time."

"This is why I never show anyone these." Greg put a hand on his shoulder.

"I'll have to write a report about the two of them. Maybe the head will listen to me this time. I have had other complaints from others about them ganging up on people. I'll do what I can. They are aren't taken as seriously since their opinions about Sherlock pushed him to jumping off a building." Greg explained.

"Thanks Greg. I'll try to keep him out of trouble."

"Don't be sneaking off so often John. I don't want my crime scenes to be…" Lestrade struggled to think of a word as John walked outside. He finally shouted."…contaminated!"

John smiled as he walked outside. He spied Sherlock on the other side of the police line looking sour. John took a moment to observe his lover. He was wearing the long black coat that John had kept in a closet the years he had been gone. Despite the pounding in his head and the ache in his shoulder John smiled. He knew things were only going to be more complicated going forward if Anderson and Donovan stayed with the force, but he was happy. If Sherlock didn't work for the Yard they would have to take on more cases privately so Sherlock didn't get bored and blow up the flat with his experiments. They would find a way to make it work.

Still thinking, John walked over to the detective who turned on his heal and left as soon as John reached him. John followed silently knowing Sherlock would either explode or contain his feelings.

Suddenly Sherlock ducked into an alley on his left. Again John followed, but was suddenly pushed back against the brick wall with Sherlock's lips smashed against his. Sherlock's hand was behind his head to protect the already forming lump on John's head from hitting the wall. He always thought of everything. Their hands started to explore and the kiss grew increasingly intense until a door opened in the alley and startled the two apart.

"How's the head?" Sherlock asked.

"Pounding less. All my blood is rushing elsewhere." John smirked. Sherlock smiled too but weakly.

"I can't work with them not if they can't respect us. Not if they smash you into a wall because you have my name inked on your body."

"They didn't mean real harm."

"Then why do you have a bump the size of a golf ball on the back of your head," Sherlock reminded him. John sighed.

"If you don't work for the Yard, we'll find other cases. Your name is cleared and people will come looking for you again." John assured him.

"Such faith," Sherlock shook his head. Sometimes he forgot the depths of feeling he had for this man until something like this happened.

"Always"

"Are you sure you don't want them on scene? I quite like this result." John giggled quietly. Sherlock smiled but his tone was serious.

"I could get bored if I don't work for the Yard. It could be dangerous."

"I'll keep you occupied." John sealed the promise with a kiss. "And you know I like a bit of danger."

**A/N: Input is always appreciated. **


	5. Irene

**A/N: set six months after the fall. Irene is hard to write. **

Irene and John

Irene was waiting in the warehouse when she heard John start shouting as he entered the building. She smiled a little despite herself. Would he always think Mycroft was the one who summoned him?

"Mycroft! I'm still not going to help you. You can take your bloody government position and get the hell out of my life because I'm sick and tired of this. I don't need you hanging around to remind me. I remember all the time!" John kept shouting for a while and Irene heard his footsteps approach the shelves where she was waiting. She steps out into the isle and John took a step back in surprise.

"Not who you were expecting?" she asked.

"I thought you were dead," John stared at her.

"Obviously not."

"Then what are you doing here?" he sounded so suspicious. She smiled.

"I need information Dr. Watson." Well, really she didn't. She was here to implant an idea into John's head. She was here to help him. She was here at the request of Sherlock Holmes. In truth she was playing a game with John Watson to save him from himself.

"How do you keep doing this?" John asked still staring at her.

"It doesn't matter really and that's not why I'm here. Is he really dead?" she asked. Of course she asked about Sherlock. She never really cared about anything else did she? She was the jealousy flicker across his face. Even though Sherlock was dead, John wasn't as interesting as the dead man to Irene Adler.

"Yes." John answered her shortly and nodded.

"You're sure?" she asked. Her voice waivered just a little and her eyes were shinning.

"I saw him jump from the top of the hospital and hit the pavement. I took his pulse. There wasn't anything." John struggled to tell her all of these things.

"Are you sure that's what you saw?" she asked again. She tried to make him remember that he actually hadn't seen the body hit the pavement.

John paused. As much as he struggled to forget that day, his dreams kept it fresh in his mind. He would never forget those moments. He saw Sherlock jump and then…the biker ran into him. Did he actually see Sherlock's body hit the street?

"Well…I mean…he jumped. I saw him jump and I started running. I collided with this biker as I crossed the street. I got knocked down and slammed my head on the pavement. I know he was on the ground… I don't know…" he stopped and stared at her.

"Yes?" she looked at him intensely. His brows furrowed together.

"No…he died. He. Died! I saw him die. I took his pulse. I went to his funeral." John insisted. Irene sighed. He was so stubborn.

"Did you? Was there a body in that casket? Did you carry it?" She tried another approach.

"It was already at the grave for the service. Mycroft had a closed casket."

"Why?" a smile played across her lips. Enough holes in the facts would make him doubt.

"Molly suggested it. She begged really. She said doing his post-mortem was bad were only a few of us that went and Mycroft agreed. He said it would be easier." John remembered the scene. Molly had been crying and a wreck with big circles under her eyes at his flat. Molly begged John to just keep the casket closed for her because she couldn't look at him anymore. Mycroft had agreed so easily. John's mind was racing with confusion and Irene saw it on his face. "Why are you here?"

"Because, Dr. Watson, I needed information." She told him again.

"But how are you here? You were beheaded," John scoffed looking at her. He had never wanted to be part of her games.

"Ah, you don't know the whole story…but it doesn't matter. It sounds like things aren't adding up doctor." She chided him like he was a school boy.

"Sherlock is dead. I cannot change it. God knows I wish I could." John snarled at her. She could see all the questions running behind his eyes. Irene walked over to him and pressed on his chest and started to say something when John winced away. Her eyes flickered down to his chest and back up. She furrowed her brows together. She abandoned whatever she had planned and smiled.

"I believe you would change it," she purred, but she was caught off guard. Men did not flinch away from her. Everyone wanted her, except this funny little man. She wondered why Sherlock seemed to care so much.

"It's none of your business," he followed her eyes and pulled away.

"Still not a couple?" she called after him. John paused. "Did you love him?"

"Sherlock didn't understand sentiment," John spat. Only Irene knew how wrong John was.

"That's not what I asked."

He didn't answer her and that was answer enough for her. She walked over to him again. Irene put her hand on his chest and when he met her eyes, he nodded. Somehow this woman who had come back from the dead, twice, had gotten him to trust her with this. The secret he kept from everyone.

She unclasped the buttons. Irene had been expecting a fresh injury or the scar she had heard Sherlock describe. However, what she saw was a violin perched on John's chest with Sherlock's name in script as the strings. She ran a light finger over the still raw flesh.

"You are not what I expected," she whispered. John surprised her. She had never paid much attention to him during their last encounter. She needed to push him in the right direction. Now she could see that he would be willing. She needed him to believe that Sherlock could be alive. Sherlock feared that John would go insane because of the way he had been behaving recently. He quit his job and withdrew lots of money. Sherlock worried he was suicidal.

"Well, Miss Adler, you are exactly as I remember." He pulled away from her but she held his wrist.

"Why?" she breathed looking up at him. Her face was almost touching the tattoo as she examined it.

"Maybe, I'm trying to fulfill a wish that I never made until it was too late. Maybe I'm worried he meant what he said. Maybe I'm worried I'll forget that Moriarty was real," John told her and he kept telling her all the things he worried about. He told her and she listened quietly. John had never told anyone about his doubts. Doubts about Sherlock, about their friendship about Sherlock's abilities. The doubts that constantly plagued him now that Sherlock was dead and John's heart was ripped apart. Somehow he could voice them to her and he told her all of them.

"Oh you poor boy," she sighed genuinely. Like that the spell was broken and John realize what he had just said to her. He was embarrassed and angry when he turned away.

"I'll be going then," John closed up his shirt and turned to leave again.

"I have a theory." She called. John stopped but did not turn to face her.

"Will I care?" he asked his voice was strained with anger.

"I don't think Sherlock Holmes is dead," she called after him again.

"He is dead. He made me watch."

"You keep saying that as if you are the ultimate authority on it. You thought I was dead. Twice! And here I am. Why couldn't he? He bested me after all," she smiled at him. "One more miracle?"

Sherlock had told her the line that he had overheard at the grave that day. He told her to say it when everything else failed. She needed him to believe that Sherlock could be alive. The tattoo shook her and she knew that John wanted him to be alive. His doubts about Sherlock would resolve and he would go back to his old self. She knew this would happen now.

"How do you know about that?" John looked at her incredulous. "No one was there!"

"A little birdie told me. Don't worry he'll be back," She smiled and left him standing there thinking. She had planted the seed. Now John had to act on it.

**A/N: Also my updates maybe a little more spread out because I'm going back to school! **


	6. Harry

**Harry and John**

Harriet Watson was used to her brother crashing on her couch. Even though she knew he didn't approve of her drinking or her other parts of her lifestyle, which apparently Clara didn't approve of either since she had moved out again, he often spent nights on her couch. Since Uni John had spent nights on her couch when life was hard on him and he needed to escape. When he had come back from Afghanistan, he didn't take her up on her offer that he could live with her. Instead he dropped in once or twice a week and spent the night on the couch. When Sherlock died he spent two weeks on the couch until he found another apartment to stay in, but he insisted he couldn't use the guest room. Periodic visits since the death of his best friend were always the same. John slept on the couch.

So tonight Harry was in for a surprise when she answered the door to see her brother with a duffle bag. He hadn't been over to spend the night in almost six months, but tonight he had shown up with a bag and asked if he could stay the night. She started clearing the couch but, instead of following her, John had trudged upstairs and thrown his bag in the guest room. When he came back down, he offered no explanation. Instead, he smiled and offered to cook dinner.

They had eaten dinner in silence. Take away since Harry knew her brother well enough to decline his offer to make dinner. John moved his food around on his plate but barely ate any. He forced a smile on his face every time Harry managed to catch his eye. By the end of dinner Harry was tired of seeing the troubled look in his eyes. He had looked sad everyday of the past three years, but tonight the sadness was replaced by something else that she couldn't quite identify. After they finished their awkward meal, John had excused himself and went to bed. Harry tried to watch telly for almost two hours before she gave up and walked upstairs.

"Alright, what's wrong," Harry burst into the room. John stood, without his shirt on, staring in the mirror. He looked up in surprise. He was standing over the sink in the bathroom with the door opened. Harry could see the ink that covered her brother's skin. John had tattoos since he was 20 and Harry knew about many of them. The last time she had seen any of them was over three years ago though. Her brother kept his collection well hidden and even she was unsure about how many he had. He was never shy when she saw them, but he didn't put them on display on purpose. She knew his private art was just that, private. Today she saw several additions including a violin on his chest. When John turned to face her, she could see it much more clearly.

"The side panel is new." Harry smiled. She stared at the violin on John's chest though. The name that was inked in letters was familiar and the design was beautiful even to her untrained eye. It didn't surprise her, but it held her attention. Sherlock's name decorated her brother's chest right over his heart. "And others."

"He's alive," John told her flatly. Harry's attention was snapped back to John's face.

"What?" she looked at him wondering if he had actually lost his mind.

"He showed up at the flat tonight. Greg had come over and we had a couple of drinks and then suddenly he just walked into the flat like it was normal. He stood there like I was the one of place just looking at me with that mop of black curls. I dropped my drink and I thought maybe I'd had just a couple too many or something. Then Greg walked over to him and put a hand on his shoulder, that's when I knew he was real because Greg saw him too. Then he asked if he could stay again, if he was still welcome and I told him yes I just said yes. I should've punched him or something. I mourned him and went to his grave. It's been three years Harry. THREE YEARS! He's been gone for three years and he didn't even say anything about why. He just asked where all his clothes were," John's voice ranged from shouting to whispering as he told Harry about his evening. He was almost sobbing by the time he finished his story. "She, Irene, made me think he could be alive, but after working with Mycroft for so long to clear his name and he never came back I just gave up on it. There weren't any more signs after her. I was sure she was just wrong and I told him that when I went to his grave two weeks ago. I told him I knew he was dead for sure. Then he shows up tonight."

Harry was quiet for a few moments while she tried to process everything. Sherlock was alive? Her brother should be happy. She knew he loved the crazy detective, but she wasn't sure in what way exactly. This little speech almost proved it to her that John was in love with the man. He was so relieved and so angry at the same time. She almost laughed at John.

"You have to go home." Harry told him. She smiled at him.

"What? Are you kicking me out? The one time I will stay in your guest room and you send me away?" John's asked in disbelief.

"How long was he home before you stomped out of the house?" she asked. John's face softened a bit.

"About twenty minutes," John admitted.

"Well then how can you say he didn't offer an explanation?"

"I…well…"John paused and looked at her again.

"What's this about?" Harry poked John in the middle of his chest.

"He was dead…" John started.

"Yea, I know."

"I wasn't coping with it. It just was eating me alive…and I just needed something to help me keep going. I mean I was dreaming again, but it was all about him falling and dying rather than war. He called me right before he jumped and told me he was faking it. He told me he was faking being a genius. Those words were haunting me. I needed to believe in him. So I went and designed this." He rubbed where she had poked him.

"You always did with the tough stuff." Harry smiled. "Get out of here. I mean it. You need to give him a chance to explain. It better be good or I'll really kill him."

The two of them laughed some and John gathered his things. He hailed a cab from Harry's step and jumped in as she locked the door behind him. She turned on the telly hoping to hear from John before she went to bed. She slowly fell asleep but her phone woke her up a few hours later.

_Apparently a consulting criminal was threatening my life – JW _

She sent a quick reply along the lines that might be on the short list of acceptable answers before heading to bed. As she fell asleep she received a text from an unknown number.

_Thank You for sending him home Harry – SH_

_Your welcome Mr. Holmes. Don't do this to him again. –HW_

_I don't plan on it. – SH. _


	7. Mycroft

**A/N: If you read Ink and the Reaction a Story of John Watson's tattoos, you might be interested to know I added another chapter. It didn't exactly fit in as one of these stories but my fingers itched to write it. Enjoy! **

**John and Mycroft **

Mycroft Holmes's black car pulled up in front of Baker Street. As he stepped out, he glanced up at the windows of the flat his brother and John Watson shared. Mycroft hadn't heard from his brother in over a week. That fact in itself wasn't unusual, but he hadn't heard a peep from John either. Mycroft doubted they were in any trouble, but it was unusual. He also needed to check on the case he had given to Sherlock almost two weeks ago. He had expected his brother to solve it rather quickly considering how many times he said bored during Mycroft's visit. He assumed John and Sherlock were off solving cases that didn't pertain to national security. Sherlock would do anything to irritate his brother.

As he walked up the steps, he heard nothing from the flat above which was unusual as well. He expected explosions, shouts or even gunshots. Suddenly he heard John chuckled as he reached the door. Mycroft didn't bother knocking anymore because Sherlock always demanded that he not be admitted.

Mycroft opened the door and stepped inside as two heads turned. What he saw gave him reason to pause. He had seen many things in 221B and nothing unusual shocked him about his brother usually and John was predictable. Even so, he rarely experienced a shock like the one he had now.

John was lying on the couch in front of the telly with Sherlock lounged across him. The scene itself was amusing. The long lanky detective looked like he was trying to trap the doctor on the sofa. The two of them were focused on the TV. When John saw Mycroft he immediately turned red up to his ears, but the relaxed look on Sherlock's face vanished replaced by a scowl that was only for Mycroft. Mycroft regretted the change. He had rarely seen Sherlock relaxed or at ease since he was a child.

"What is it now Mycroft?" Sherlock asked without getting up. Mycroft observed his younger brother wasn't wearing shoes, another peculiar development. Always ready to dash off after a criminal, Mycroft wasn't sure when he had seen Sherlock in socks last.

"I see you two are having a nice afternoon," Sherlock glowered at his brother as Mycroft spoke.

"I didn't get anywhere with your case. Leave," Sherlock ordered.

"Obviously there isn't anything important going on…"

"You are interrupting something very important," Sherlock interrupted to inform him. His brother was still glaring at him as he stood up.

"Really? What is so important?" Mycroft asked. The sarcasm hung in the air. Sherlock looked over at John who got off the couch as well. John nodded. Another interesting development.

"A date," Sherlock told him. Mycroft's head snapped up and he looked over at John. For the first time he observed that John's jumper was discarded on the floor and his shirt was partially unbuttoned. Mycroft observed his brother again and noticed his clothing was in fact ruffled as well. His eyes jumped back and forth between the two men. John's smirk was irritating as Mycroft tried to process this information.

He noticed a patch of color on John's bare chest and squinted to try and see it better. Sherlock stepped towards his older brother and effectively blocked his view of John.

"Now, Mycroft, you know the flu epidemic has been affecting London for the past month or so. Today is John's first day off from work in that long. I think I should let him have a day off before I start running him all over London looking for criminals. I need him at his best and if he is exhausted he might miss something. So, if you will be so kind…please leave," Sherlock was polite, but his tone told Mycroft that there would be hell to pay, if he didn't get out of the flat now.

"I suppose your correct brother. John, do _rest_ well," Mycroft resigned annoyed. He knew he would get nothing from Sherlock if he stayed and irritated him. Mycroft bid them good bye and walked out of the flat. He was shocked actually. There were few things that Mycroft did not expect Sherlock to do. Sherlock would do almost anything, legal or otherwise, to solve a case, but being in a relationship with his flatmate was something he hadn't expected. As he left, he heard John speak.

"A day of rest? I don't think what I've been doing today qualifies as rest at all."

"I didn't say rest. I said a day off from work. I think you'll agree what we've been doing isn't related to the work." Sherlock growled. There was laughter then Mycroft heard a body slam onto the couch and he hurried downstairs.

Hours later Mycroft received a text.

_Give me at least a week to solve your case. New distraction. – SH_

A picture message was attached which Mycroft wasn't sure if he should open. After a few moments of deliberation, he clicked to open the photo.

John stood bare-chested and scowling at the camera. On his chest was the patch of color that Mycroft had noticed before. It was a tattoo. In fact, John had several tattoos on his torso. The one that stood out though was the one in the center of his chest. There, right across his heart, was a violin. It stretched up to John's throat and Mycroft marveled that he had never seen or imagined that John had tattoos. Obviously his choice in jumpers was in part because of desire to hide the designs. He zoomed in to see the strings which seemed to be in a design as well. He gaped when he realized the strings were drawn to write his brother's name. The S was designed to look like it was burned into the wood of the instrument. In truth, it was a beautiful design. Mycroft opened a new message on his phone.

_Congratulations to the new happy couple. I hope you didn't force him to tattoo that design Sherlock. Emotions are not as permanent as ink. – MH_

Moments later Mycroft received a response.

_I got this tattoo when you were telling me to move on and your brother was dead Mycroft. I still believed in Sherlock when you thought he had died. When you were responsible for the circumstances that lead to his death, but you still thought he wasn't clever enough to escape. –JW_

John's malice never surprised Mycroft, but the timing of the tattoo did. He sat in his office and stared at the wall while he thought. He was in shock. He never realized how devoted the doctor had been to Sherlock during that time even though they worked together to clear his name. The tattoo was testament to a whole new level of devotion. Then, not for the first time, he felt ashamed that he, the man's own brother, doubted him in his worst hour.

Mycroft didn't approach the flat for almost two weeks, but from that day forward he always gave warning. He didn't need that kind of shock twice.

**A/n: If anyone would like to suggest a scene, person, time that I haven't written yet, I would love to hear it. I'm running out of ideas but these are so much fun to write! **


	8. John's Thoughts

**A/n: Working on a Mrs. Hudson and a Molly chapter and a couple of other things. I've been brainstorming, but this is set…if you read ****_Ink and Reaction_**** it is right after Sherlock tries his first attempt at looking at John's tattoos. John storms out of the house and Sherlock doesn't see him for the rest of the day. So I see John just in panic mode trying to figure out everything. **

**John's Thoughts **

It was almost dark when John turned around and headed back towards Baker Street. Night was falling over London and the last of the sun's rays reflected off the buildings. John had been walking all day and trying to compose his thoughts about the events that morning. Up until now it had never been a huge problem to hide his tattoos even while living with Sherlock. John wore jumpers and other clothing that kept his tattoos hidden. The violin was especially easy to hide, but now all of Sherlock's attention would be focused on what upset Sarah which was the violin. Oh how was he going to get out of this mess?

It wasn't when Sherlock died or when he had his violin tattooed on his chest that John realized how important Sherlock actually was to him. John had known since his meeting with Irene, now over three years ago, that he did in fact love Sherlock Holmes. What kind of love he had held in his heart for the detective for all that time, he wasn't sure. When Sherlock was dead, it wasn't really a problem. You don't have to worry about a dead man walking in on you or analyzing you every moment. When he had showed up in the flat, things had gotten complicated for John.

John's world had been turned upside down by the revelation that his best friend was in still alive. Even so, the tattoo would remain on his chest and reminded him every day that Sherlock had been gone for three years. Sometimes he was sure he had just gone mad and imagined the detective living with him again. The tattoo was complicated. It meant so much when Sherlock was gone but now…now it seemed like a burden.

After today things would be even more difficult. When he had gotten the tattoo, he could still insist that they hadn't been a couple. It was true after all. They weren't a couple while Sherlock was alive. Once he had talked to Irene and spilled all his secrets to her about his worries and his too late wishes, things were different. He had said them all out loud. He had made them real and it had made him realize that on some level he had been in love with Sherlock Holmes. Whether infatuation or admiration he still wasn't sure and he fought against it at first. There were more girls in and out of 221B that month than John normally saw in a year, but they weren't enough. They didn't analyze him, challenge him or lead him to danger. After a while he gave up trying to fill the gap.

After months of trying to analyze his own sexuality, John had finally settled the argument with himself. He had loved Sherlock and now that he was gone there was no one to replace him. It didn't matter man or woman. They weren't Sherlock. He had never met anyone like the detective before and probably never would again. John had resigned himself that he would be alone again, possibly forever. The weight of the realization brought his depression crushing back down on him at first. He helped Mycroft restore Sherlock's name and he tried to move on with his life. Then it all went to hell when Sherlock showed up at his doorstep one evening. John ran a hand through his hair. He passed some shops that were closing down for the night.

Now here they were. Sherlock had figured out that he had tattoos and wanted to know where and what. John had practically run out of the flat. He was angry that Sherlock was snooping, but his fear overwhelmed his anger. Fear of rejection and dismissal filled his mind. If Sherlock saw, he would know. If he knew, he would laugh at him and send him packing for sure. Sherlock hated anything sentimental and he would only see the tattoo as sentiment. Sherlock had been back from the grave for eight months, but now John was going to lose him all over again and it would all be his own fault.

Anger overwhelmed him again. He dug his fists back into his jacket. Why did Sherlock leave? Why did he leave John to suffer and to need to get the damn thing tattooed on his chest? Why did he call him in his last moments and punish John with the words that he was a fake? Why? Why? Why? John knew of course why. He left to save him. Even so, most of the time it didn't seem like enough.

Why did Sherlock leave to save him if was only going to tear John's world apart? Why did he come back and act like everything was the same? So much had changed. John knew he wanted something more with Sherlock. He almost needed it, but the fear of rejection was almost crippling. How could he walk back into the flat now? Sherlock would see everything all over his face just like the other night.

Sarah, of course, had been of the last ditch efforts for John to keep his feelings for Sherlock hidden. He really cared about Sarah and hoped that their relationship would work out. He thought if he started dating again things would go back to the way they had been. John kept waiting for reality to set in. He waited for the experiments, the shouting and the violin playing to drive him mad all over again. It never happened. Eight months in and he was still happy to hear those noises every time he woke up. The flat had been so silent for three years. It felt like the life had been breathed back into it.

John looked up. He was back at 221B. All the lights in the flat were off. Could Sherlock be sleeping? Impossible. John made his way slowly silently up the stairs. To John's great surprise Sherlock appeared to be sleeping on the couch. John walked over and watched the man breathing for a moment. Sherlock was on his back spread across the couch. He was so tall his limbs stretched past the confines of the couch. His face was relaxed though, and he seemed so peaceful.

"Alright Sherlock, I'll let you see them... Just...please don't let me down," John spoke low hoping not to wake up the sleeping detective. He went upstairs and went to bed hoping Sherlock wouldn't press him tomorrow. He wasn't ready to show him the tats yet. He promised himself he would explain everything soon. Until then he needed time to sort himself out and decide how he was going to explain the violin to Sherlock.

**A/N: Input always appreciated. **


	9. Mrs Hudson

**A/n: Combo of what I was thinking and what was suggested. Hope it works! **

**John and Mrs. Hudson**

_"Arrrggghhh," John shouted. Mrs. Hudson was sure he was trying to change the dressing on his arm again. John, of course, refused to go see a doctor because he had medical training and insisted he could do it himself. Mrs. Hudson was beginning to believe that his stubborn streak would kill him or at least rip out his stitches. Last week his cab had been hit and flipped over in a strange accident in central London. John's left shoulder had been full of glass shards. He was bandaged up and sent home, but changing the dressing with his one hand was more difficult than he anticipated. She heard him pacing upstairs. She left her kitchen and started up the set of stairs. _

_Her heart was heavy as she headed up the familiar stairs. Before Sherlock's fall, she went up the stairs daily. Since the fall about a year ago she could count the times on one hand that she had gone upstairs. The last time was…well she wasn't sure how long it had been since she was upstairs. She blamed it on her bad hip and told John all the time it prevented her from making trips upstairs, but really she just couldn't face the reality. She told John she really didn't know how John lived up there with all those memoires. She once told him sometimes she was sure it was driving him mad. He didn't argue with her either instead he just looked at her with those haunted eyes. _

_She heard him shout again. Everyday Mrs. Hudson heard him shouting and she had grown used to it. She had heard him shout in pain or because of memories in his sleep. She often heard him curse Sherlock's name since his death. Today was just another day, but he sounded aggravated and angry. Maybe she could help him change the bandages. _

_"I'm going to rip this off. Damn the stitches to hell," John growled. She heard the stair creak under her weight when she reached the landing. All the movement in the flat upstairs stopped. _

_"I'm alright Mrs. Hudson." John called. She paused for a moment, but moved up the rest of the steps and opened the door. _

_ "But you really aren't, are you dear?" He hung his head. She walked over to him and did just as he asked to help him remove the dressing on his arm. The dressing was mostly to keep his wounds clean so the dozens of cuts on his skin didn't look that alarming. Mrs. Hudson held the new bandages in place as John wrapped tape around it with his free hand. _

_As he was finishing the dressing, Mrs. Hudson noticed the ink that covered John's body. She was taken aback by it. She never knew John had tattoos and, in fact, he was covered in them. She stared at his chest and arms. When she saw him glance over at her, she quickly looked away. _

_ "Mrs. Hudson I can finish cleaning up on my own. You don't need to stay if this place makes up uncomfortable and I'll go back to the doctor from now on to get my bandages changed. I don't want to upset your anymore," John told her. He smiled a bit. She knew he was as uncomfortable as she was. She could see he was trying to give her an escape if she was upset by the tattoos._

_"I didn't know you had tattoos John," she smiled weakly too. He turned back to his kit. _

_"I don't tell people if I can help it," he told her with his back to her. His voice sounded strained. He turned to face her. _

_"Why not?" _

_"It's not really anyone's business except mine." He started to explain, but Mrs. Hudson didn't hear him. She was looking at a tattoo on John's chest. A violin sat right over John's heart with Sherlock's name across it. The tattoo raised question in her mind. Mrs. Hudson had often wondered what the real nature of their relationship had been. They never talked about Sherlock. It was unspoken that it was too painful for both of them. Even so, now it seemed like the least uncomfortable topic for them. John had stopped speaking and was staring at her now. Obviously she should say something. _

_"I miss him so much some days," she sighed. "He used to drive me up the wall with the experiments and the shooting, but I miss him." _

_"He didn't speak for days when he was working on a case, but he was always here. There was always some kind of commotion. He was loud even when he was silent. Now…well it's just so quiet." John told her quietly. _

_"I played violin music downstairs for months after it happened. It wasn't the same. Recordings don't have his finesse." She laughed a little at her admission. The two of them shared a smile. _

_"I got this when it all became too much." John pointed to his own chest. "Faked genius! I couldn't believe him, but all the evidence was killing me. It was like I was fighting myself all the time. There were all these doubts about everything and this just….well it helped." _

_"I'm glad. I need you around her John. I'd never be able to find a renter if you left. Sherlock's chemicals destroyed this place!" she laughed but the thought of John leaving made her heart ache. He had tried once, but came back soon after. She hoped he would stay even if it was hard because the memory of Sherlock was here._

She remembered that day fondly now as she stood in the doorway watching the two men fight. They had revealed that they were a couple just a few days ago, quite by accident, when they had come home from a case. John was shouting at Sherlock on the steps about danger when suddenly Sherlock had swept him into a frantic kiss that caught her by surprise. The two had looked sheepish when they realized she was there, but she had just chucked. She was happy for them. It had taken them long enough.

Today though, Sherlock was standing with his phone pointed at John while John had his hands crossed over his bare chest. The two of them were arguing about Mycroft and picture messages or something. The disagreeable man had just left the flat a few minutes ago. She started laughing at the memory, of how uncomfortable the she and John had been that day, and John's face when he was trying to pull off the bandages. The two men turned to face her. John lowered his arms and asked if she was alright. She nodded and she continued to laugh.

Sherlock took the opportunity to put the phone back up and snap the picture.

"Ah ha!" he shouted. He bounded up the stairs and away from John.

"Sherlock," John growled and sprang after him. Mrs. Hudson quickly left the flat and closed the door behind her.

"Don't knock down the house boys!" she called as she hurried down the stairs.

**A/n: Input always appreciated. **


	10. A New Tattoo Design

**Sherlock's Tattoo Idea**

Sherlock cleared his throat and John looked up to see his flatmate standing in front of his armchair. John raised an eyebrow. Sherlock shifted his weight as if he was nervous about something.

"I, er…John I have a suggestion or a…" he paused. Then he looked John in the eye and said in a low voice. "I wanted to put forth an idea for your next tattoo."

John stared at the other man for a few moments. The two of them had been together as a couple for about three months now. There wasn't much Sherlock didn't know about the tattoos. John had shared more about his tattoos with Sherlock than anyone else. Even so, there had always been an acknowledgement that they were John's art. John wasn't exactly upset, but he thought Sherlock understood the boundaries about the tattoos.

"Why?" John asked to stall. He knew this issue had the potential to break them apart and ruin their relationship that they were just starting. Sherlock could easily push too hard and make this into a problem for them especially since any pressure was too much for John. Others had tried to influence his designs and ink. They had usually been out of his life fairly quickly after they tried. He was tense now. John knew Sherlock was more important than anyone else in his life had been up to this point, but how would this play out?

"Because I have an idea, and I want to share it with you. You are under no obligation to choose this design. I just…it would mean a great deal to me if you would consider it." Sherlock's voice was gentle. Obviously he had observed John's tension. John felt himself relax a bit at Sherlock's words.

"What is it?" Sherlock handed over a sheet of paper that was folded in half. He silently left the room and after a few moments, John heard Sherlock's door close upstairs. John stared down at the sheet in his hands. He waited a few moments considering the possibilities before he opened the paper. He couldn't fathom what Sherlock would design for him to ink onto his body.

On the top of the page Sherlock had written a short note in his elegant script.

_An idea for your left arm. Back to symbolism and birds. Falco columbarius and Luscinia megarhynchos_

John let his eyes roam over the design. Two small birds were sketched on the rest of the page. The two birds sat with their foreheads touching and eyes closed. The smaller brown bird rested on a branch so it was at the same height as the larger one. The larger bird was obviously a raptor because it had talons and a sleek design to its body. John sat studying the designs for several minutes. He was almost embarrassed at his immediate apprehension to Sherlock's idea. The man had recognized the symbolism in all of his existing tattoos without being told. Why would he think Sherlock would do this without thinking? It was an obvious oversight on John's part because Sherlock didn't blink without thinking about it. John wondered what the symbolism behind these two birds were.

John pulled his laptop onto his lap from the floor and slowly typed the scientific names of the birds into the search engine. The larger raptor bird was a falcon, a merlin to be exact, and it was the symbol of guardianship as well as war and intelligence. The smaller brown bird was a Nightingale. This little bird symbolized love and it represented people who brought about transformations. As John read more, all the symbolism clicked into place in his mind.

The birds were him and Sherlock.

Sherlock was a larger, well tall, protective, intelligent man who walked the streets of London trying to win the war for those he cared about. John was the smaller of the two. He loved Sherlock and he had transformed him into the man he was today. The posture of the two birds was quite romantic as well. John smiled as he continued to read into the birds' symbolism.

After a few moments Sherlock came skipping down the steps. He didn't look directly at John as he spoke. John thought his body language indicated worry, but sometimes he acted like this when he was thinking as well.

"We have a case," he called over to John as he pulled on his coat. John heard Sherlock start down the stairs. Sherlock almost always ran out of the flat and only paused to let John catch up when he was waiting for a cab outside. This time though he poked his head back into the flat when John didn't answer or move to come along. His face was troubled. "Coming?"

"When did you come up with this?" John asked holding up the paper. Sherlock's face was obviously troubled when he looked at John.

"A few weeks ago. It was after the case you labeled _The Best Dressed Dead_ I believe," Sherlock explained. He stepped back into the flat and walked slowly toward John. He hesitated "What do you think?"

"Are you sure you want it on my arm?" John asked. Sherlock's face lit up, his whole body relaxed, and he captured his lover in a quick kiss before he pulled back and rested his head against John's just like the design.

"So, you'll have it?" he asked quietly.

"Sherlock, I think you've outdone me with birds and symbolism, and this design… its… fantastic," John smiled. Sherlock headed toward the door. He flipped his coat up around his neck and turned back to John.

"The case?" he asked.

"Of course," John pulled on his own coat and the hit the streets of London to solve the latest mystery that Lestrade had called about.

**A/N: Input is always appreciated. Thank you for all of the positive feedback and ideas for the future! **


	11. Damage

**A/n: Forgive me if Sherlock's voice seems a little off. I haven't written in his character for this story since I updated the original so I can't hear him in my head right now as clearly as before.**

**Damage**

John had barely said a word since they got home from the hospital. That had been almost a week ago. It was like they were revolving around each other instead of living together. John went to and came back from work, he ate dinner and he slept. Other than that he barely left the flat or spoke at all. Sherlock wondered if had been like this when John had been shot in Afghanistan. He could only imagine it had been worse then considering John had been on his own. That was the last time one of John's tattoos was damaged. It had only been one that time had been truly damaged though. This time it was three at one time. John had survived the attack but the stitches and scaring would probably destroy at least one design completely. How long would it take for John to recover?

Each time the memory played in his head, Sherlock wondered how did so much go so wrong so quickly. The man they were chasing had stopped just around the corner and slashed at John when he came around the corner. The assailant had caught John under the jacket and his knife had cut through John's shirt. The knife wound streaked from his naval around to his hip. Sherlock continued to be thankful that John's tattoos were the only thing damaged. That first cut had not been very deep. The maps on John's torso were mangled but still recognizable. The compass was almost completely destroyed by the slice alone.

However, when John turned to confront his attacker, the man stuck out the knife and sunk the knife into John's shoulder. Sherlock had fired off the shot to kill the criminal. The damage had been done though. The beautiful lion and rose, the tattoo that Sherlock had first seen, was almost completely destroyed by the wound. The Lion's head was still there but much of its body and stem had been mangled.

John had been in shock since he woke up in the hospital and realized the tattoos had been destroyed. Sherlock continued to search for a way to comfort his partner. After four years together, Sherlock knew how important the tattoos were to John. He also knew how essential they were to his well being. After the destruction of the last tattoo and being sent home from the war, John had been on the verge of suicidal. Sherlock continued to watch John at all times.

Tonight Sherlock came back from working on a case and brought take-away home as well. John looked at him rather curiously when he walked in with the bags.

"Special occasion?"

"I can't pick up dinner on my way back?" John raised an eyebrow. He was sitting in the living room and typing up the latest case which he had sat out.

"You don't. You've never. What is going on Sherlock?"

"You haven't eaten all day. I haven't eaten in several days. We both need nourishment." Sherlock shrugged and tried to be casual. He wanted John to be back to normal. Their relationship hinged on the fact that they were what the other needed. John needed Sherlock's support this time. Instead of John chasing Sherlock around London to ensure his well being, Sherlock was sitting in the flat ensuring John's mental stability held. Tonight he brought food because John was losing weight, and food seemed to help John's soul as well as his body. Once when he had shot a suspect, he had eaten more than he normally ate in a week. He used meals to cope with his stress. Now he wasn't eating more than breakfast each day. Sherlock was convinced if he could get John eating again he might recover from this loss.

"I'm fine." Sherlock frowned. Mrs. Hudson had obviously come into clean. Several of his experiments were adjusted and the living room had less clutter on the floor. Sherlock put the food out and walked back into the living room.

"You have lost two pounds this week and six overall since the accident. I doubt you've been out of the house more than three times in a week even to go out with Mike and Greg. You haven't slept more than three hours a night since you came home from the hospital either." Sherlock told him gently. When John glared, Sherlock added. "You tossing and turning wakes me up too."

"I'm fine."

"You aren't."

"I will be."

"Evidence says otherwise so far."

"The evidence is wrong. I was fine before."

"You lost one tattoo in a combat zone. You were depressed and suicidal before you moved in here."

"Things are different. I can cope."

"Are you sure? You can tell me."

"Yes."

"Last time things were very bad..."

"And this time you are here to worry over me so things are better." John smiled for the first time in what seemed like ages to Sherlock. A real smile and Sherlock smiled too because the warmth was there even if happiness didn't crinkle John's eyes as it usually did.

"You should still eat something." Sherlock stood and headed toward the kitchen. John followed and caught his partner's wrist. Sherlock turned to gaze quizzically down at John.

"It's not just having the ink destroyed. It's that near death experience and the hospital….and the memories of last time. That was the worst time in my life. Sher, you made that better then and you are making this better now. I feel like I lost myself and I get memories and flashbacks worse than I have in years. This whole accident has brought back awful moments from my life. I'm struggling , but I'll make it. I just have to work my way back to you. I'm trying." John pulled him into a kiss that reminded Sherlock of earlier days in their relationship. Days that had been filled with misunderstandings and passion instead of routine and familiarity. As they broke away Sherlock smiled.

"That's a good start." He laughed a little. "Maybe tomorrow we'll work on a case together? Greg has a few things that have been piling up. I'm not as good without you." John smiled again.

"Not right away." Sherlock's smiled faded in disappointment but John quickly added. "I'm going to talk to my artist to see what he can redesign or salvage of the artwork."

"Do you want me to come?" Sherlock had been along for some of the latest additions of artwork at John's request. This time though, he wasn't sure if he would be welcome.

"I'd like that." They smiled again and made their way into the kitchen. John talked more than he had in a week and Sherlock felt more relaxed than he had since the accident. Sherlock turned on the telly and prepared for a calm evening. John was doing the dishes and Sherlock saw all of their tea cups were clean when he was finished. He dared to hope that tea would be made when he woke up tomorrow morning like it usually was.

As they cleaned up and moved back into the living room, John grabbed Sherlock's wrist again and pulled him into another kiss that was sweet. The two of them settled onto the couch for a quiet evening. Sherlock was relieved be the normalcy of it. Things were looking up and when John dragged him to their room later Sherlock was glad he had stopped for take away. Food always helped John Watson.

They would heal the damage together.

**A/N: Sorry this sort of turned into fluff? I'm not sure how but I hope you like it! **


	12. Coming Home - A Reunion

**A/n: So I have Sherlock and John stories lined up for when John gets the violin and Sherlock getting a tat. I might post them in the original story, at least John's, so watch out for that. I'm not totally sure where I'm going to put them. They kind of fit better here but I also kind of want to put the two of them with the original story. **

** Reunion **

Greg tapped his foot nervously and continued to nurse his glass of scotch. John had almost drained his third glass and was laughing more and more easily at Greg's stories about crazy things criminals did when they were arrested. It was just over two hours ago that Greg had received emails from Mycroft explaining Sherlock was in fact alive. John seemed to have relaxed and forgotten that Greg had just decided to pop by weeks before his birthday.

He had sent Mycroft two emails since he arrived to ask about Sherlock, but received no response. He was beginning to wonder if Mycroft Holmes was capable of pulling a practical joke when he heard his phone go off from his coat pocket.

_Sherlock is back in London. He will reach the flat in approximately 15 minutes.- MH_

"Thank God," Greg sighed. He was running out of reasons to hang around the flat. John looked up from his drink at his friend. Greg scrambled for an explanation. "Ah…the test results won't take very long. Apparently the lab doesn't have much to do."

"Good. I could drink to that. Catch those bastards that ruined a perfectly good jumper." John and Greg finished their drinks after they toasted. Greg chuckled nervously. He glanced at his watch.

"You probably need to head home don't you?" John stood and stretched. Greg tried to shake his head, but John pulled him up to his feet. "Truth be told I should probably be getting to bed. I have an earlier shift in the morning. Sarah scheduled me right at opening tomorrow."

Greg was trying to back pedal the conversation to no avail and by the time they got to the door he was saying goodbye to John. As John reached for the door handle there was a knock on the other side and Greg's stomach dropped.

"Your wife coming to find you?" John joked. Greg tried to smile, but he knew it looked terrible on his face. He saw Sherlock on the other side as John opened the door. When John turned, he dropped the empty glass he was holding and Sherlock caught it with one hand. After a few moments of staring John reached a hand out and grabbed Sherlock's other wrist then jerked back when he actually felt flesh.

If it was possible, Sherlock was skinnier than Greg remembered. His eyes, while still the same steely grey, seemed dull compared to their normal excited look. He seemed to brighten when he saw Greg and John. He even smiled at the two of them while they stared. The mop of dark curls seemed even more messy and wild.

"Sherlock…" John managed. The tall dark haired man in the doorframe nodded.

"Hello John…I um…may I come in?" Sherlock asked. John and Greg were blocking the doorway while they gaped at him. When they moved aside, Sherlock and Greg shook hands and Greg smiled at him. Sherlock walked over to the bottle of scotch and poured a glass for himself into the one he had saved from clashing to the floor. He nodded at Lestrade. "Thank you for coming Greg."

"I wasn't sure if Mycroft could joke, but I was certain he was lying. I couldn't believe you would be alive and coming back here." Greg mumbled. He saw John's head shoot up. Sherlock began inspecting the flat.

"He was not. I am very much alive, obviously." Sherlock continued to move around the space that he had once lived in. He looked in the kitchen then at his chair. He turned the skull so it was once again facing the room. Then he cross the flat and opened his bedroom door. He visibly sagged when he saw nothing in there was touched from either relief or regret Greg wasn't sure. He stepped into the room and moved some things around.

"Where are my clothes?"

"Mycroft has them. He came about six months ago and took everything." Greg explained when John didn't answer.

"Hmmm…my experiments?"

"Gone. Mrs. Hudson got rid of them in between when you died…er jumped and when John moved back in. After one exploded, she decided it was silly to hang onto them." Greg supplied again. Sherlock's head shot up when Greg mentioned John's leave from the flat. He looked around the kitchen again. He continued to move things about for a few minutes which Greg assumed was from nervous energy. Both of them kept glancing at John.

"How long?" Sherlock asked Greg.

"Long?"

"Till one exploded."

"About a month."

"Stupid. She should have thrown them away immediately. All those chemicals sitting around stewing. She's lucky I didn't have something more volatile here…" Sherlock trailed off thinking.

"Don't blame Mrs. Hudson." John growled. Sherlock went silent again. He looked in the fridge and opened all the cabinets.

"What are you hunting for?" Greg finally asked.

"Something decent to eat."

"To eat?" Greg asked incredulous.

"Yes I've been traveling for two days straight and I've had nothing but airplane food and biscuits to live on." Sherlock grumbled as he continued his search.

"You don't eat every day." Greg commented remembering what John had told him about Sherlock.

"Well no, but John…where is the tea?" Sherlock called.

"What do you need tea for if you're hungry?" Greg threw his hands in the air completely confused.

"I'm going to need to know where he put it if I'm going to live here again." Sherlock supplied.

"Live here again?" Greg whispered. He saw John move from the doorway towards the kitchen.

"This is the most agreeable living arrangement I've experienced. Therefore, now that I'm back in London, I'll move back here." Sherlock explained to the two other men who gaped at him.

"If John wants you back…" Greg trailed off.

"Of course he does! Right John? You'll have me back." Sherlock clasped him on the shoulder. His expression was almost desperate. He looked straight down at John, who Greg was sure, was in shock.

"Yes." John told him as if hypnotized.

"See?" Sherlock's face lit up like a Christmas tree. It only lasted a few moments though.

"And where have you been?" John's stupefied demeanor had vanished and he now looked like a bull ready to charge at Sherlock.

Greg knew that tone and physically took a few steps back away from John. Sherlock looked at him curiously. Greg had been on the receiving end of John's hot temper more than once and didn't want to get in the way of the words or punches that John might throw. He had known this was a possibility going into this evening, but he wanted to be here for a reunion not a domestic dispute. Greg was thinking maybe the scotch had been a bad idea. John could be feisty when he drank and he was very agitated.

"In hiding, abroad." Sherlock waved a hand as if to bat the question away. He sounded unconcerned.

"Abroad?" John growled. Greg was sure he was going to explode.

"Yes yes. It doesn't matter." Sherlock shrugged.

"Three years and it doesn't matter?" John's voice almost screeched.

"Yes, regrettably." Sherlock sounded bitter but stopped flitting around the room and faced John. The short man's face was red and he was trying to keep his cool, but anyone could see he was losing control of the situation.

"You have been alive all this time and I've been…my god this is ridiculous." Greg felt for John. He had been through tremendous struggles after that day at the hospital and Sherlock was acting like he had been gone a few days rather than years.

"John try to understand…" Sherlock started

"Try to understand what?" John was shouting. Mrs. Hudson would be coming any moment. "I've been living here in this hell for three years while you hid abroad. I thought you were dead! I buried you Sherlock! Now you come back and move everything back to where it was? You are going to act like it never happened?"

John walked over to the fireplace. He grabbed a duffle that was sitting at the end of the desk. Greg knew that bag. John had spent more evenings at Harry's place over the past few years than Greg had spent in the office chasing criminals and working on processing arrests. Leaving the flat like this wasn't going to help this time.

"John, I think you should stop for a second and let him explain what is going on." Greg interjected to his friend. He couldn't blame John for being angry, but he didn't want John to say or do anything he might regret later. John paused and looked expectantly at Sherlock who looked like he was struggling for words. John patience wore thin in a few moments and he glared at both Greg and Sherlock.

"You knew about this? Did you know about this the whole time?" John asked now turning on Greg.

"Mycroft told me Sherlock was coming back tonight. Before that I was as clueless as you. I thought he was dead too. I wasn't even sure if Mycroft was telling the truth when he contacted me so I didn't say anything." Greg shrugged trying to calm his friend and John nodded a few times.

"Let him stay here by himself for a while and see how it feels." John jerked his head toward Sherlock and his voice had venom in it. John headed toward the door. Greg followed him hoping to calm John down. When they reached the door to the street, John turned to Greg again. "If you tell him anything about what happened earlier, anything about my tats, I'll kick you both out and neither one of you will ever see me again."

"I won't you know that." The army doctor nodded. He slung his duffle over his shoulder and hailed a cab from the sidewalk. Greg walked back up to the flat.

Sherlock was sitting in his chair with his head in his hands.

"He's gone?"

"Yes to Harry's. He'll be back in the morning. He hates her couch after he sleeps on it." Greg explained.

"You seem to know a lot about him. More than I could deduce from sitting here." Sherlock grumbled while his eyes were all questions.

"Someone had to fill the void. It started out as him hating me for not standing by you, but slowly he and I became mates." Greg shrugged. It had been a long process, but it seemed like ages ago now. He sat in John's chair.

"I thought telling him as little as possible and going back to normal as quickly as possible would have been the right thing to do." Sherlock shook his head.

"I think the moment you came back was too quickly Sherlock. He needs an explanation and a true one. He was a wreck when it happened. This…" Greg waved his hand at Sherlock. "…changed him. He's a different John Watson than you knew, but he's a lot the same too."

"Time changes everyone."

"Yes." Greg stood. "I was here to keep the peace and now that John's gone I think it will hold. I have to get home. Keep the scotch. I think you'll need it."

Sherlock stood too and walked Greg to the door.

"Thank you. I think you've been a better friend to John than I ever was."

"Yes, well somehow I still think he likes you better." Greg smiled and Sherlock cocked his head. "I'll be off. Goodnight Sherlock."

**A/N: Ideas are popping into my head after months of blank stares at this! Input appreciated. **


	13. Inked - John

**A/n: **** **I posted this in the Original story because I wanted it to fit there, but after thinking about it, it really fits better here. So if you read it in Ink and the Reaction this is the same thing just moved it! Sorry for any confusion and for being indecisive.****

**This is when John actually talked to his tattoo artist about the Violin tattoo. ****Forgive me if this is improper etiquette for getting a tattoo. I don't have any tats so I'm making this up as I go along.**

**John and Mal**

The bell clanged over the door as John stepped into the shop. Three heads poked out of doors, but only one man came out to greet him. John couldn't help but smile. It had been too long since he had been here. Mal Thomas was John's tattoo artist. He ran his own shop with his own rules and John had been coming here since he was 22 to have his artwork done. His earliest ones had been done in his hometown, but when he came to St. Bart's for medical training he had decided to find a place in London to do his ink. Mal had been in business on his own for exactly three days when John opened his door for the first time. Now here they were almost eighteen years later.

"John! It's good to see you! I haven't done any artwork for you in…what is it? Over a year?" Mal smiled as John walked into the studio. His tattoo artist was a big guy. At nearly six foot five inches, Mal dwarfed John, but they had always been good friends. Mal knew more about John's tats than anyone else and he could read John like an open book because of it.

"Its good to see you too." John laughed a little as he stepped inside the familiar space. The studio was open and friendly just as he remembered it. Things hadn't changed since John had been here, but life outside had changed so much. Mal was just a little off. John hadn't gotten a new tattoo since living with Sherlock. The fall was almost six months ago so his last tattoo was almost two years ago. Nothing that bad or that good had happened in the course of that time to ink onto his skin, but now…

John had been drowning in doubt and sorrow. He was trying to pull himself out since his best friend had jumped off the roof of the hospital. The doubts plagued him like disease. Every morning he woke up sweating and screaming and at night it took him ages to fall asleep. He saw Sherlock every time he closed his eyes. Even remembering the dreams now was unsettling. The images were like torture. He shook himself a little bit to dislodge the dark thoughts before he started talking to Mal about the design.

John handed over the sketch to Mal. His hands were almost shaking as he did so. He had been working on the drawing for days and the design for almost two months. Mal cocked at eyebrow as he looked down at the design.

"Let's step into my office." Mal motioned with his head as he continued to study the design. The elegant body of the violin was detailed magnificently. The real challenge would be getting the S to look as it did in the drawing. The S looked burned into the wood while the rest of Sherlock's name was spelled out in strings from the instrument. It was different than anything John had ever suggested to him, but it was still very John. Filled with emotion, deep meaning and well thought out. John never brought in a half finished design. He always had his ideas well developed when he came in.

As he stepped into the office, John turned to confront his friend.

"I know what you are going to say." John blurted out. Mal now raised both eyebrows. "I've been thinking about this for weeks. I'm not going to ink a name on my just because. You know I'm smarter than that. I know Sherlock is gone and I know you don't do names, but Mal I have to do this. I need to get this design done. I wouldn't ask to break your rules if it wasn't important."

Mal waited until he was sure John was finished. Mal had a rather strict rule that he would not ink names onto any of his customers. He rarely broke his rules especially the one about names, but he smirked a bit as he looked down at the design. As his longtime friend and customer, John wasn't someone who he could deny much of anything.

"Actually I was going to ask you where you thought you might want it?" the larger man smiled at John who was now staring at him with his mouth open. "I know you aren't going to do something rash. I've done too much work for you to think that. So where?"

"Here." John presented his left arm to Mal. The arm didn't have any ink on it. Mal considered this as he looked at John.

"It's fairly wide for your arm…" Mal mused. "The body would be obscured down around the sides of your arm."

"Then make it skinnier."

"It would distort the design which you have obviously put some work into."

"Not that much time..." John shifted back and forth knowing he was lying.

"I could suggest somewhere else." Mal mused.

"Where else do I have room?"

"Here." Mal pointed right in the middle of John's chest. The center of John's chest over his heart was a glaring patch of bare skin.

"No. It's too suggestive." John told him while shaking his head.

"Of what?"

"That this is something more than it is." John threw his hands up in the air.

"Suggesting to whom? I've never known you show off my work. I've told you how I find it insulting." Mal teased and John relaxed a bit. It was true. He never told anyone who didn't need to know about his artwork. Even the man who he was making this tribute to hadn't know.

"I don't know." He ran his hands through his hair.

"You've never cared for anyone's opinion about your ink and you've never desired for people to influence it. I get a little bit of say, but only if I'm convincing and not much even then. I don't think you should worry about them." Mal put "them" in air quotes. "Put it where it feels right. This doesn't feel like an arm piece to me."

John didn't speak for a few moments.

"I used to have nightmares about Afghanistan. Dying. Getting shot. Those dreams I could handle because I knew the truth of what happened. It was rough, but things got better eventually mostly because of Sherlock and the Yard letting me work with them. Watching your best friend get framed, proclaim he's a fake and jump off a roof isn't something that is going to get better. I still have doubts and I want those doubts out of my head. He wasn't a fake. He was real." John hung his head. "I've dealt with everything else this way. I need to deal with this like that because if anything is going to help it's this, but putting it over my heart? That is suggestive that we were more than we were. We were friends Mal. Nothing else. Absolutely nothing else."

"I don't think it reads like that, not with the design you've created."

"Really? Even on my arm, I think people are going to see this and assume..." John trailed off.

"They might." John raised his eyebrows. "Some will."

"Thanks that's helping." John scoffed and Mal gave him a lopsided grin.

"I didn't assume anything." John gave him a look. "Ok maybe a little, but when you really look at the design and when you explain it then no."

"I still think I want it on my arm."

"It won't have the same impact there."

"I'm not showing this off to anyone."

Mal stood looking at John for a few moments.

"I don't do names because love never lasts as long as the tattoo. John you're inking this name on your body out of loyalty, respect and honoring the man. I can ink that, but I don't think your forearm is the right place for such loyalty and, I believe, admiration even if it's just for yourself. Trust me on this." Mal put a hand on John's shoulder as he spoke. John sighed heavily.

"I think I've lost this battle." He laughed and hung his head. "All right on my chest it is."

"Think about this. You can still wear sleeveless shirts for one side!" Mal clasped him on the shoulder again as they began working out when John could come back for the tattoo.

**A/n: Input always appreciated**

**PS: I'm thinking about writing a new story about the moments when John decided to get tattoos and the inspiration behind them. I'm not sure if I have enough ideas for it and there might be enough in the original story. Let me know what you think. **


	14. Inked - Sherlock

**A/n: I'll be honest I'm not 100% sure Sherlock would do something like this, but I couldn't get it out of my head. **

**_Sherlock and John_**

John was fidgeting next to him like a five year old who knew he was going to the doctor to get a shot. He was nervous and excited, and annoyed at the moment. Sherlock could see it in how John kept wringing his hands and he could feel in the tightness of his posture. Sherlock grinned over at him which only earned a scowl. As they settled into the cab, Sherlock turned to his partner.

"I'm sorry I went without you." Sherlock leaned into John's space hoping for a smile that would signal he was forgiven. John continued to stare out the window.

"You didn't need my permission." John's voice was calm. Sherlock could only detect a trace of anger under the surface. John had become very good at hiding his feelings when he wanted to, but Sherlock was learning how to read his attempts to conceal his feelings as well.

"Maybe I should have asked anyway," Sherlock suggested and cocked his head.

"Sherlock…" John groaned. "It doesn't matter. I was just worried when you didn't answer my calls or texts for several hours. That is not like you."

"You didn't notice last time."

"You went while I was at a medical conference in Cardiff." John grumbled. Sherlock scowled.

They sat in silence for a few minutes while the cab carried them back to Baker Street. Once they arrived and were back in the flat John went into the kitchen to make tea. Sherlock sat in his chair to watch John move about the kitchen.

"What did you get?" John asked finally with his back to Sherlock.

"I will show you the design when I remove the bandaging." Sherlock smirked. He wasn't forgiven, but John was curious and intrigued now. John turned and scowled at him.

"I hope you didn't do something stupid." John mumbled just loud enough for Sherlock to hear as he sat down opposite Sherlock in his chair in the living room.

"I'm sure your first tattoo was much more impulsive than this." Sherlock smirked. He, of course, was correct. At twenty John had spent a lot of money on a tattoo that wasn't quite as symbolic as the rest of them. The lion and rose had been destroyed a few months ago. The loss had been difficult for him and John rubbed the spot where the knife sunk in absentmindedly as Sherlock spoke.

"That's not the point." Sherlock stepped toward John to pull the worrying hand away from the scar. Sherlock hated to be reminded he hadn't been able to protect John.

"Then what is the point?" Sherlock sighed. Usually he could read John like an open book, but when he was being extra evasive, Sherlock had more trouble. John paused.

"I never thought you wanted tattoos. You don't care about your body like I do. You've made it clear you think of it just as transport. Why design it with something?"

"You worry I wouldn't put the same meaning into my designs and they will just be artwork rather than a significant representation of my life or moments in my life." Sherlock deduced. John's eyes snapped up and Sherlock knew he hit the nail on the head.

"Just tell me you didn't get a heart with your mother's name on your arm." John rubbed his forehead.

"If that was the case, I think it would be more appropriate to put your name in a heart." Sherlock chuckled at John's concerns. John just glared at him.

"Sherlock…" John's voice was a clear warning. He was being serious.

"Even though you hide your artwork, you have represented large amounts of your past and your soul on your skin. Sometimes I find it difficult to express emotions, especially ones involving you, therefore, I want to attempt this way." Sherlock explained. John scowled.

"You don't have to put permanent marks on your body to explain your emotions to me Sherlock. You find ways to explain them to me without that kind of step."

"They aren't for you John. They are for me. In planning this I have realized more about myself that I originally planned."

"Just tell me what it is." John begged. Sherlock just shook his head.

"I don't want to. You didn't let me see the design I created until it was finished. Describing it would not do the design justice."

"You know this isn't temporary. Whatever you've done…" John stopped when Sherlock glared at him.

"I am an adult John. I knew what I was getting into and I had been planning this a long time. I would think that tattoos are something we could agree about? It seems like you have an aversion to anyone else getting them. Why are you so worried about this?"

"I don't want you to feel like you have to get tattoos or something because I have them." John explained. "That wouldn't be the point of my art and you might resent me later if this doesn't work out the way you want." He paused. "We barely get along through breakfast some days. Sometimes we barely speak for days. If you put something about me on your body, I don't want you to regret that reminder later."

Sherlock's magnificent brain was sometimes entirely too slow. When it came to John, it seemed like it was always the case. He closed the distance between then before gently turning John's chin up with a finger. He captured the other man's mouth in a slow kiss. When they broke apart, John's eyes were wide.

"That is not going to happen. I cannot change the object of these emotions as easily as most people do. I'm afraid, John, that you may be stuck with me for life. Up to this point I've never meant anyone who could understand me and read me the way you can. My tribute to you may not be as strikingly loyal as yours is. Maybe someday I will do something similar. The moment I marked has everything and nothing to do with you." Sherlock explained. John's puzzled look was enough to make Sherlock lean in for another kiss before he pulled out of John's embrace.

"So this is why you've been wearing my shirts to bed. I thought you liked my detergent." John laughed a bit. Sherlock grinned.

"I didn't want you to see the design when it was only half finished." Sherlock smiled back.

They ate dinner in comfortable silence. Sherlock was worried about John's imminent reaction to his tattoo and John was thinking about each time he had added a tattoo to his collection. As John cleaned up, Sherlock slipped out to uncover his design and take care of it properly before John saw it.

John was sitting in his chair staring into space when Sherlock returned. John didn't look over at him until he was almost to the chair.

"This feels familiar." John smiled. Sherlock laughed when he remembered the first time he had seen John's violin tribute to him in a situation similar to this.

"Where?"

"Shoulder," Sherlock dropped down in front of John's chair with his legs crossed. He heard John gasp and he peaked over his right shoulder to see John's face.

"More birds." John's voice was amused. His face was filled with unease and awe.

"Always." Sherlock smiled trying to be reassuring. Sherlock unfolded the drawing of the design in his lap. On his right shoulder a transformation was occurring. A mechanical owl sat with a octopus's tentacles wrapped around one wing crushing it. Gears were falling off of the bird along with a few real feathers. In one talon the owl held a bleeding heart as the octopus reached for it. John could have covered the whole design with both his hands. It was quite small but detailed nonetheless. Sherlock watched John over his shoulder as the other man tried to puzzle out the meaning of the tattoo.

"The owl is mechanical." John stopped. He seemed to be concerned about it.

"Yes, but it is transforming. Just like me."

"Octopus? I don't know the symbolism." John laughed nervously. Sherlock recognized he was trying to change the subject and turned to look John in the eye. It took him a few moments to put the clues together. John stared back with worried eyes.

"You were not the only one to call me a machine John."

"I know…" Sherlock waited until he spoke again. "But it was the last thing I said before you were on the roof."

"I knew you were upset and frustrated so I understood. I didn't die."

"I didn't know that then," John reminded him softly. Sherlock reached for John's hand which he supplied. They sat in silence for a few moments until John signaled for Sherlock to turn around again.

"The octopus is a representation of mystery, illusion, reason and intelligence. I prefer to think of it as the darker part of my mind. The mechanical owl represents me and my attempt to be…" Sherlock trailed off.

"Sentimental." John suggested.

"Emotionally engaged." Sherlock added as he nodded. "The heart represents you. The cause of my transformation. The only reason I try."

"I didn't realize it was so difficult." John murmured as he continued to stare at the struggle represented in the tattoo. Sherlock turned around again.

"It's not always." Sherlock smiled and pulled John into another kiss before he stood again.

"You totally copied my idea though." John protested. "You have two animals that represent two parts of you that are fighting over a heart."

"The octopus is reaching for the heart out of desire for it. It is not fighting over it…" Sherlock argued.

"Yet. That is a slight distinction. It is not fighting over it YET." John objected laughing. Sherlock just shook his head while John continued to chuckle.

**A/n: at least one more coming. **


End file.
